


Talk to Me Like Lovers Do

by Bluebluebaby



Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/F, For Fun And Friendship, Sexting, Smut, i think we all want that, judy just wants jen to have a nice time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:35:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26818924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebluebaby/pseuds/Bluebluebaby
Summary: Judy helps Jen work on her sexual communication skills... as a friend.(or, platonic, then NOT PLATONIC dirty talk)
Relationships: Judy Hale/Jen Harding
Comments: 87
Kudos: 170





	1. More Than Words

**Author's Note:**

> i just think judy is a great friend and would love to help jen out, that's all

It’s Charlie who tells Judy about Jen and Ben, over coffee a few days after the fact. 

His is more milk and sugar than anything else, but Judy kind of loves this late morning ritual, the two of them chatting while Jen’s working and Henry’s watching cartoons. She knows Charlie is here in the kitchen because he wants to be, and that in and of itself helps her keep going, on the hard days, when she still feels like she doesn’t really belong anywhere. 

“So… Ben was here the other morning… pretty sure he spent the night.” 

Charlie grimaces, and Judy’s not sure if it’s from his own words or an attempt to ease into more stereotypically masculine caffeine consumption, so she opts for a neutral response.

“Oh. Um, how does that make you feel?” 

He raises an incredulous brow ( _ god _ , he’s the spitting image of Jen when he does that). 

“How does it make  _ you _ feel?”

(Either Judy’s studiously blank face has betrayed her, or Charlie is more observant than any teen boy should be.)

She opts for zen-like curiosity: 

_ What can we learn together from the information presented to us? Let us approach the scene with beginner’s mind. _

“Hmmmm. I think I’m happy for your mom to have a connection with someone, but I also know it’s gotta be kind of weird to see her with someone else, after losing your dad.” 

Charlie shrugs. 

“I mean, it’s been a year. I’m not stupid enough to think she’d never date again. But Ben is like, way dorkier than my dad.” He looks at her, narrowing his eyes. “You’re a lot cooler than him.” 

Judy splutters on her (oat milk and coconut sugar-sweetened) coffee, abandoning all hopes of appearing uninvested in whom Jen decides to have sleepovers with. 

“Some people are into the cheesy thing, Char. Not every guy can be as effortlessly cool as you.” 

He flips her off behind his mug, before downing the rest of the drink, and slipping his shoes on, off to loiter dramatically while holding a skateboard (Judy’s not entirely sure he ever actually rides it, but who is she to judge). 

“Well, she pushed him out the door pretty quick, so, you know, maybe she wasn’t  _ that _ into it. Not that I want to think about that shit, but like, come on, Judy, he’s not gonna be my new stepdad.” 

Judy laughs nervously, unsure of how to respond to Charlie’s (pretty blatant) goading. 

“Well, nonetheless, if your mom wanted me to know, I’m pretty sure she would have told me, so, if you want answers you’ll have to ask the questions yourself.” 

“Yeah, whatever. I’m hanging out with Natalie tonight, don’t wait up.” 

_

Judy hates that Charlie’s right. 

When she and Jen are in the same room together, she finds herself clenching her fists, biting her tongue, doing everything she can not to ask about Ben. 

It helps, substantially, that Henry is also there, during dinner, but when the plates are cleared and he’s up in his room practicing the newest Holy Harmonies choreography, it’s a lot harder to resist. 

(Judy’s never been good at saying no to temptation, even on her good days.) 

Jen insists they split a bottle of Pinot Noir on the couch, and in her effort to not say the thing she’s trying not to say, Judy says  _ nothing _ , which just makes Jen uncomfortable and suspicious. 

“Judy.” 

Jen says her name like a _ threat _ , and Judy feels her stomach drop, her face flush. (There’s got to be some deep-seated root in her past that inextricably links shame and desire; she doesn’t have time to unpack all of that right now.) 

Her age-old inability to just  _ stop _ , to let things go before she’s made a fool of herself rears its pesky head again. 

“Charlie said you had Ben over the other night?” 

Jen sighs, pushes her reading glasses up the bridge of her nose. 

“Fuck, I didn’t think he saw.” 

“Oh, he’s not like, _ mad _ ,” Judy quickly reassures, “I think he just wanted to… process?” 

“Judy, I swear to god if you turn my son into a lesbian… actually, you know what, that would probably significantly reduce my stress level, go right ahead.” 

Judy giggles, relieved that Jen is a)not mad at her and b) comfortable enough to banter around the matter at hand. 

“So… how was it?” 

“The sex?” 

“Of course the sex! Unless- you didn’t actually- which is, you know, do you-”

Jen interrupts her rambling before she can spiral too much into equivocation.

“No, we had sex. It was… ugh, underwhelming? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I got the first fuck post-Ted out of my system, but other than that, nothing to write home about,” Jen shrugs. 

“Is that why you didn’t tell me?” 

(Judy plays it as a joke, light and breezy, but Jen knows her well enough to catch the hurt in her voice. She wonders if she hears the curiosity, as well.) 

“Jude, I was embarrassed, okay? Not to mention, I’m a huge fuckin’ hypocrite. I  _ thought  _ no one saw us and I could… pretend it never happened.” 

Jen looks so small there at the end, like the disappointment could crush her, and Judy knows she’ll say anything to make it right (even if none of the responsibility for _ wrong  _ is on her). 

“So he’s not also the good kind of big?” 

Jen snorts. 

“Oh, he is, but um, I imagine Steve wielded his with more  _ confidence _ . It’s just a vibe I got.” 

Judy sighs, remembering just how  _ confident _ Steve was. 

(Just because she’s accepted that he was an unkind person who didn’t deserve the privilege of walking among the living doesn’t mean that the sex retroactively became  _ bad _ . It was unquestionably good, likely for many of the reasons that made the relationship itself so fucking awful.) 

“Well, did you tell Ben what you like in bed?” 

Jen scoffs. 

“Why would I do that? I’m like anyone else- I like to finish, that’s pretty much it. And if he doesn’t know how to make a woman come at his age, well, I feel fuckin’ sorry for his ex-wife.” 

Judy shrugs, sympathetic to Ben even as she envies the chance he had (and apparently blew).

“I think women get taught sex is something that happens  _ to _ us instead of something in which we fully participate.” 

“‘ _ In which we fully participate’ _ \- who are you, the fuckin’ queen?”

(A mouthy Jen is a defensive Jen. Judy doesn’t mind having the upper hand, for once.) 

“You don’t get things you don’t ask for.” 

Judy raises her chin, looks Jen in the eye, and takes a long drink. 

(Judy doesn’t really like the taste of alcohol, but she loves the way it burns. If she pushes her buttons enough, Jen’s annoyance often has the same effect.) 

The tension breaks, when Jen’s frustration gives way to vulnerability. 

“I don’t know how, okay, Jude? I haven’t- it’s been literally two years since I’ve had sex, and before that, decades since I had to explain to someone how to get me off. Ted and I may have had our problems, but sexual compatibility wasn’t one of them… at least not while I had tits.” 

And then, then Judy sees the opportunity to  _ fix _ it, to do something nice for Jen. To maybe help repair the smallest of losses from Ted’s death. 

“I could help you practice.” 

“Practice what? Fuckin’  _ dirty talk _ ?”

(If Judy’s toes curl at hearing Jen say that phrase, no they don’t.) 

“I mean, if you want to _ call  _ it that. I like to think of it as… direct sexual communication. Concise expression of desire.” 

Jen looks at her for a second as if waiting for the other shoe to drop, the ghost of Allen Funt to hop out from behind the couch and announce that it’s all been an elaborate ratings ploy. 

Judy just holds the line, open and accepting, attempting to telepathically communicate  _ I’m here for you. _

It must work, because Jen relents. 

“Alright, fine. Since you’re having so much great casual sex, please enlighten me.” 

“Did you just call me a slut?”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“It’s okay, I liked it,” Judy winks, leaning into the role she’s self-cast. 

“Righ, um. Maybe just start with like, an overview?”

“Oh, you’re into professor/student roleplay? That’s hot.” 

“ _ Judy. _ ” 

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” Judy whines, still having too much fun to be truly contrite. “The biggest thing to remember is you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar-” 

“-Don’t you  _ dare _ connect this to Bambi, I swear I will never have sex again.” 

“Well that would be a tragedy for humanity, Jen, we can’t have that. But as I was saying, its important to provide positive reinforcement, and use the power of suggestion.”

“You know I don’t do that shit,” Jen frowns. 

“ _ For example _ ,” Judy continues, undeterred, “instead of telling my lover-” 

“-ew, don’t say lover.” 

“Fine. Sexual partner?” 

“Marginally better.”

“Instead of telling my sexual partner ‘ _ kiss my neck’ _ or saying ‘ _ don’t knead my breasts _ ,’ I try to frame things in a motivational way:  _ ‘I love it when you kiss my neck _ ’ or, grabbing their hands to redirect and saying ‘ _ it feels so good when you pinch my nipples _ .’” 

Jen’s eyes look a little bit glassy (or maybe Judy is just that hopeful; stranger things have happened), and it’s possible Judy may have overcommitted to the verisimilitude with the extra rasp her voice has at the moment. 

“That’s a… very vivid picture you’ve painted there, Judes.”

“Specificity never hurts, when you’re trying to get off.” 

Jen’s cheeks are flushed (from the wine, Judy tells herself), and Judy wonders if her skin feels as hot to the touch as it looks. 

“Right,” Jen gulps. 

“But then again, a woman’s largest sex organ is her brain, so, it’s important to tap into the mental elements of desire. What you want, and  _ why _ you want it.” 

“Yeah, I am so not gonna get there with a one-night-stand,” Jen dismisses. 

“Well, sure, if you’re drunk and the sex itself is exciting, it’s probably fine, but you know, personally I think that’s a wonderful advantage of online dating, getting to build up the anticipation through texting.”

“You mean _ sexting _ . No, I’m not about to send nudes to random men who can’t keep their dicks off their camera rolls. Jesus, it’s bad enough worrying about Charlie doing it.” 

Jen looks angry now, and as much as Judy enjoys that particular spectacle, it’s not really the effect she set out to elicit. 

“Just talking, Jen. About what you like, and why. The advantage of talking to someone first is you can put all your cards on the table, no surprises. Fewer disappointments,” Judy shrugs, alluding to Ben. 

“It’s just all so fucking  _ cheesy _ . I feel like I’m in a softcore porn. And not in a hot way, in like, a cautionary documentary way.”

“Well, if you ever feel like practicing, I’m  _ very _ open-minded,” Judy offers, like she would driving Henry to choir rehearsal or picking up an extra bottle of wine from the store. 

“That is… not gonna happen, but you know what, I really appreciate the insight there, Judy. I’m glad one of us is having a good time in the sack.” 

“Anytime,” Judy beams, momentarily forgetting her own ulterior motives in lieu of being a good  fucking friend. “Can I give you a hug?”

“No!” Jen yells, before clearing her throat and schooling her expression into neutrality. “It’s not a good time for me, yeah? I think I’m gonna go to bed. But you know, we can totally snuggle over breakfast, or whatever.” 

Judy can live with that. 

(Watching Jen walk upstairs helps soothe the burn considerably.) 

_

Jen knows two things about Judy: 

  1. She flirts with literally everyone and 
  2. If push came to shove, she’d probably sleep with them, too. 



What Jen can’t discern is whether she genuinely harbors that much attraction in her heart, or it’s just another outlet for Judy’s boundless generosity, sleeping with anyone who acts remotely interested. 

The fact remains— Judy is both offering her  _ expertise _ as a friend, and would  _ undoubtedly _ fuck Jen if she ever indicated her feelings were more than platonic. 

Jen doesn’t think of herself as a prude (hell, when she and Ted were in their twenties they fucked in public in every borough), but she’s never been able to  _ connect  _ with people the way Judy has. 

Maybe she’s onto something with the whole “clear, direct communication” thing. 

Fuck. 

She doesn’t want to explain that fucking Ben was more about having a reprieve from hating herself and less about having a genuinely good time (hard to do when the guy comes after three minutes and wants enthusiastic reassurance that she did as well, which, how?).

She frankly, would rather not confront her failures in life, or bed, again, but now that she knows, definitively, that Judy likes “ _ having her neck kissed and her nipples pinched”  _ it’s kind of hard to think about anything else. 

Is that a normal thing, perseverating on the thought of what helps your best friend come? 

(Jen’s not the type to have gal pals where they talk about such things. Judy would probably tell the clerk at the grocery store this information if he asked nicely.) 

Judy, to her credit, doesn’t raise the issue again. Jen only zones out while staring at her once or twice a day, which is frankly impressive, given  __ how the obsessive voice in her head has started demanding “ _ kiss her neck, kiss her neck, kiss her neck _ ” at all hours of the day. 

When she gives into the curiosity, and texts Judy from her bed, just past midnight, she tells herself it’s in the interest of self-betterment, and not an all-consuming need to know more about what Judy likes in bed (and who she likes it from). 

_ Fuck it. I’m ready to enter the twenty-first century. Teach me to sext, Judy.  _

The dreaded ellipsis makes an appearance for five minutes before disappearing, and Jen nearly considers going the fuck to sleep before Judy sends her a goddamn novel of a response. 

**Jen! I’m so excited to be going on this journey with you- I think that modern technology has really made openness so much easier, you know? One thing I was thinking about , that we didn’t touch on the other night, is how we talked about phrasing our own desires in a positive way, but it’s also so important to make the other party feel desired. Not just, “I like ______” but “I want YOU to_______,” you know? But the phone as a barrier makes it easier to admit those specific desires, which I think is a wonderful cultural advancement!**

_ I’m here for practical advice, not feminist theory. Jesus.  _

**Just trying to lay the groundwork ;)**

**But maybe we start with me pretending to be someone you already know you desire? Who did you have in mind?**

Jen’s heart is already racing at the question, and she must take too long to respond, because Judy follows up with a list of suggestions in rapid succession. 

**Idris Elba?**

**Ted’s ghost?**

**Ben, round two?**

With the exception of Mr. Elba, Jen’s already squicked out (and she’s pretty sure Judy impersonating him is digital blackface, so, time to nip that right in the bud). 

_ Can you… just be you?  _

**Oh. Um, sure. Yeah. Absolutely. You and me are free to be you and me, baby.**

_ Thanks, Marlo.  _

_ I’m gonna need you to get this started, Jude.  _

**Okay, so, let’s say, for example, we’re texting in between our next meetup, and I want to make sure we’re on the same page, right?**

**So I might get things started by saying something like**

**I can’t wait to see you, I’ve been thinking about you *all* day.**

Jen treats it as an academic exercise for the moment, attempting to follow the “yes, and” rules of the one improv class she took in college (a waste of everyone’s time and money, with the exception of Jen now definitively knowing she fucking hates improv). 

_ Really? What have you been thinking about?  _

**How much I want you.**

It’s a boring fucking sentence, objectively, cheesy, even, but Jen still feels her pulse quicken. 

(She wonders if Judy’s nipples are hard. That’s probably what she misses most about her original tits; not how they looked to other people, but how  _ sensitive _ they were. Judy’s are probably still plenty responsive.) 

Jen knows this conversation is for her benefit, for her to practice expressing her own wants, but she can’t help but push Judy, make up for the incessant teasing on her part. 

_ Prove it.  _

(She half-expects admonishment, a reminder to use her words, but Judy is clearly into this turn of the tables, given the speed and enthusiasm with which she responds.) 

**Fuck, Jen, I’m wet just thinking about you.**

(Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck fuck* fucking* fuck.)

Jen swears she _ feels  _ her brain short circuit, double checks to make sure she has not, in fact, died, before crafting an artificially cool response. 

  
  


_ Thinking about me, as a friend, Judes? Or thinking about me fucking you?  _

There is  _ no _ going back now. 

(Not for Jen, at least.)

**I dunno, babe, maybe you should ask my pussy. Get your info directly from the source.**

(It is, in a way, comforting to know that come what may, Judy will always be Judy.)

_ Has that line ever worked? Honestly?  _

**I mean, on men, yeah. They’re… kind of easy.**

_ Yeah, Jude, that’s why I’m not on fucking tinder. I’m not trying to get baragged with unsolicited penises. And anyways, aren’t I supposed to be practicing *giving* directions?  _

**You’re so right. So, Jen, why don’t you tell me what you want? I aim to please ;)**

(It’s still *so* fucking silly, but it  _ works _ , dammit.)

_ I want my hands under your dress, getting you off under the table at dinner with Lorna _

**Oh, Mommy’s an exhibitionist?**

(Jen can  _ see _ Judy’s smug little smile. The image flips a switch in her, and Jen knows in her bones, there’s no going back from this.) 

_ Is that what you want, baby, to call me mommy? You want me to take care of you?  _

**You can call me anything you like, Jen. But I’d rather your mouth were doing other things.**

_ Where do you want it? Do you want me to suck on your nipples, or do you want my tongue inside of you?  _

**Yes**

_ And how will you repay the favor?  _

**I think I’d start by working you up with my hands, pinning you against the wall and unbuttoning those fucking impossibly tight jeans so I can tease you with light circles around your clit**

_ And when that’s not enough?  _

**It’s never enough for you, is it Jen?**

**Then, you take off your fancy fucking clothes and I take you from behind with a fake cock, since you’re clearly so invested in getting properly fucked.**

It’s like a slap in the face, Judy’s anger, enough to bring blood to the surface of her skin, not nearly enough to quell the arousal that’s been building since the start of this conversation. 

_ What’s that supposed to mean, Jude? You jealous?  _

**Not jealous… just confused as to why you would waste your time with Ben when I’m literally right here**

_ What do you want me to say? That I thought about you while he was inside me?  _

**I don’t know- did you?**

_ It wasn’t long enough for the thought to pass my mind.  _

_ But afterwards, yeah, I did think about you. How you’d be slow. Thorough.  _

(It’s considerably harder for Jen to text with one hand, now, but she can’t keep from touching herself, not with the thought of Judy seeing right through her, exposing her. Not with the thought of Judy thinking about  _ her _ , for god knows how long.) 

**I would take *such* good care of you, Jen.**

(She would, Jen knows. She absolutely _would_.)

_ Do you think about me, Jude? When you fuck Michelle? When you touch yourself?  _

**I’m touching myself right now- does that count?**

(It does, it  _ really _ does, but Jen can’t stop the compulsion to push, interrogate.)

_ When was the first time you thought of me while you were fucking yourself?  _

**Honestly? A week after we met. You’re fucking *hot*, Jen. Is it any wonder I wanted to know what you look like when you come?**

(It’s a marvel, really, how unabashed Judy is about the things she wants. It’s too much, to tell her how in awe Jen is, so she flips the coin and opts for derision.)

_ God, you’re easy.  _

**I’m told it’s one of my better qualities.**

Jen has barely noticed what’s going on in her body, her mind has been so consumed with thoughts of Judy, but she realizes that she’s on the precipice of an orgasm, waiting for the bottom to fall out from under her. 

_ I’m so fucking close, Judy, why don’t you imagine what that looks like and come with me, hmm?  _

There’s a beat of silence, Jen’s right hand moving in frantic circles while she waits for Judy’s response. 

**Fuck, baby, I just did, thinking about you.**

That image, Judy undoubtedly biting back a moan and bucking against her own hand sends Jen over the edge, and she comes with a violent shudder, blinking back tears and gasps as she brings herself back down. 

_ Jesus fucking Christ, Judy. You’re actually going to kill me.  _

In the clarity of the aftermath, all of Jen’s insecurities come flooding back, the fear of crossing a line, fucking up, or worst of all, Judy having been faking the whole time, but after a few minutes anxiety spiraling, Judy provides her never-failing reassurance. 

**Jen, I think you’re a really good sexual communicator, actually. No notes.**

_ Thanks for your… help?  _

**Oh, the pleasure was all mine, seriously. Um, but I always get really sleepy after a good orgasm (so good! So!!!! Good!!!) so, good night 💜**

Jen thinks about Judy, drowsy and sated, and her arms ache with an emptiness she hadn’t even considered in the midst of everything else. 

_ Good night, Judes. Sweet dreams <3  _

Jen's sleep is heavy and dark, like sinking into the depths of the ocean.


	2. No Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> grief re-retreat. fucking ensues.

Jen wakes to the smell of pancakes and coffee, the sound of Henry’s chatter and Charlie’s grunts. 

She treads down the stairs softly, finding a modicum of comfort in the presence of the boys (no way they can talk about what _ exactly _ went down last night, thank god), but not so much that she doesn’t grip the handrail like a vice. 

“Wow, you must have been out like a light,” Judy winks, handing her a steaming mug which she accepts gratefully (while narrowing her eyes enough to give the acknowledgement of what put her to sleep the scorn it deserves). 

Judy holds eye contact, open and accepting as ever, but Jen feels herself fighting a blush, looking fascinatedly at Henry’s old art on the fridge.

  
  


“Mmmmm, catching up on that never-ending sleep deficit, you know how it goes. Clearly the morning routine survived without me.” 

(She can do cold and aloof. It’s practically her middle fuckin’ name at this point. )

“Self-care is  _ so  _ important,” Judy smirks, and Jen fights the impulse to flip her off (she’s  _ trying _ to look like less of a hypocrite in front of Charlie these days.) 

Jen’s too busy thinking about how Judy probably made the same smug little faces while they were  texting sexting last night to engage further than humming her agreement that Charlie can go out with his friends provided he gives Henry a ride home from Holy Harmonies. 

Once the boys are out the door, the coffee has made enough of an impact that Jen can at least help with dishes. 

Judy stands back, studying her for a moment, before remarking simply, “You look really well, Jen.” 

“I’m going to ignore the implication that I’ve been walking around resembling a sickly Victorian child prior to this morning, Jude,” Jen mutters into the dishwater, scrubbing with renewed vigor. 

“Well, I wished you would love yourself more, and you did, and it suits you, is all.” 

Her voice is sincere now, completely devoid of its earlier teasing. 

Jen briefly contemplates kissing Judy, getting soapy water all over her floral dress.

She tells her “fuck off,” instead. 

“Can’t. I have to go to work. But you know I fully support you taking care of business if you need to!” 

_ 

Aside from a few twinkly-eyed jokes, things are relatively normal between Jen and Judy, and the jokes were honestly there before the whole mutually-masturbating-to-completion-on-the-same-property thing (there’s probably a digital/digital pun in there somewhere, but Jen hopes to hell Judy doesn’t find it), just less intimately detailed. 

But Judy doesn’t treat her any differently, is as touchy-feely as ever, and for Jen’s part, she thinks she does a damn good job compartmentalizing what may be an internal mid-life crisis. 

Every night for a week, she scrolls back up through her messages and rereads the sexts with Judy. For learning purposes, naturally, to identify her strengths and weaknesses as a sexual communicator (Judy had said “no notes,” but she also eats Jen’s cooking, so she can’t be trusted as an impartial judge). 

If she happens to get herself off while reliving the moment, well, that’s just commitment to the game, baby. 

It is a bit of a mindfuck, though, the newfound cognitive dissonance between the things she and Judy had texted each other and the way that absolutely  _ nothing _ has changed about their “real-life” interactions since. 

From her words alone, Jen had half-expected Judy to bend her over the kitchen table the moment the boys were out the door. 

(She’s not sure whether she’s disappointed or relieved that Judy hadn’t.)

_

Judy tries to live by one rule: open your heart to the universe, and accept the love it gives you in return. 

Jen would argue that the universe sent her Steve, and look how that ended up, but Judy knows she learned from their time together, knows that in a roundabout, fucked up way, he led her to Jen.

Judy also knows that Jen is the great love of her life, and while she will take every opportunity presented to convey that, she won’t attempt to interfere with cosmic timing in order to rush things along. 

So, when Jen had texted her, she’d laid all of her cards on the table, waiting for Jen to pick them up. And when she hadn’t, she’d had a quick cry, lit a few choice incenses, and resolved to keep loving her in the ways to which Jen had already opened her own heart. 

Sometimes, love is fucking someone until it’s no longer possible to tell where you each begin and end. 

Sometimes, it’s warm carbohydrates.

Judy’s not sure how much she can get out of a repeat trip to the annual grief retreat in Palm Springs— she’s done so much more healing outside of that space in the past year— but when Jen suggests they go again, she jumps at the chance of a change of scenery. 

She’d known, last year, that she’d wanted Jen. She’s always wanted Jen. But now? Now, at least some part of Jen wants her too, and she’d like to know just how much.

(Lorna, it just so happens, is on her own spa weekend, but Henry is more than happy to sleep over at Shandy’s, and Charlie is at least sobered enough by his scared straight experience not to throw a wild house party. Maybe they all deserve the chance to let loose a little, anyhow.) 

Jen chain smokes while Judy drives (she shouldn’t find it as attractive as she does; Jen’s lung health is very important to her), putting her feet on the dashboard and closing her eyes to relish a moment of pure relaxation. 

“I don’t think I’m going to be drunk the _ entire _ time this year, but I fully intend to make the most of those margarita specials.” 

“As you should, mama,” Judy laughs, floating on the high of being alone with Jen, “Are you going to try to bone any hot widowers this year?” 

“Oh, god, what a fuckin’ disaster,” Jen groans, “and besides, I overcame that particular hurdle with Ben, however underwhelming it may have been.” 

Judy once again feels the universe opening the door for her (or maybe just her big fat mouth).

“Nothin’ wrong with sucking a little cock for recreational purposes.” 

“Ew! Gross.” 

“Oh, come on, Jen, I  _ know _ you’re not a prude.” 

“Yeah, but 25 years of birthday blowjobs with zero reciprocation will make them lose their shine.” 

“Hmmmm, I get that. I think they’re more fun with strap-ons, anyways. Subversive, you know?” 

Through her periphery, Judy sees Jen’s body freeze up, and for a moment she fears that she’ll demand they turn the car around, go home, and never speak again. 

But instead, Jen steels herself, retorts “so, do you put the ‘sub’ in subversive?” and Judy briefly contemplates driving with her legs crossed, weighing the risks of practicing good road safety and relieving the pounding between her thighs. 

“I’d say more of the ‘vers’, but hey, for you I can be whatever you like,” Judy winks, hoping her whole body isn’t shaking too much to ruin the flirtation. 

The rest of the drive flies by, and somehow Judy remembers how to walk when they get to the hotel. 

Pastor Wayne greets them, praising them for their work on their respective grief journeys and nodding approvingly when Jen leads with “I think I might actually even go to a few sessions this year.” 

The room has the same layout as last year, two full beds, though they’ve updated the artwork from still lifes of tropical fruits to watercolor landscapes. 

“Can we agree not to lock each other out in order to hook up with random dudes?” 

“I’ll do my fucking of strangers in bathroom stalls, promise,” Judy mock salutes, “unless you were just asking for an invitation to watch?” 

Jen scoffs.

“Yeah, I think that’s more your thing, Jude. I’m a doer, not a viewer.” 

This is, Judy realizes, just one more way of hurting herself; subtler than self-flagellating in a bathroom but no less painful. She tries to think of a response, to hold her own in the verbal fencing match she’d instigated, but all she can hear is the pounding of her blood in her ears. 

“Right, well, I’d better run if I’m going to make ‘Gardening Through Grief.’ Catch you for dinner?” 

_

Jen actually attempts to focus for most of the day; she thinks that other than a few truly vivid daydreams about Judy’s mouth and brightly colored silicone she does fairly well. There’s even some useful takeaways about helping her boys navigate adolescence without a father, and a practical albeit morose primer on pre-planning her own funeral so it’s less of a clusterfuck than trying to arrange Ted’s. 

(If she and Judy don’t fuck this weekend, she thinks she might actually die, so it’s pretty timely.)

Judy is all smiles and sunshine when they meet up for dinner (and Jen’s a little disgusted with herself at just how much the sweet and bubbly/the filthiest mouth you ever heard dichotomy  _ works _ for her).

“I was thinking we could hit up the bar tonight,” Judy offers, right before Jen suggests they just go back to the room, have some wine (and hey, if a couple orgasms happen that’s just icing on the cake). 

“Oh, sure, I mean, who doesn’t want to dance after a full day of processing the complex trauma of sudden loss.” 

Judy giggles, and gives a little shimmy, and Jen doesn’t remember her top being this low cut in the car. 

“Listen, we deserve to loosen up a bit. And it would be a shame not to let the world see how great those jeans make your ass look.” 

(Judy flirts like it’s breathing, Jen reminds herself. She’d say the same thing if she was wearing Ted’s old ratty basketball shorts.) 

“Well, in the world’s interest, I suppose I can oblige. Since I’m trying to be a better person these days.” 

Judy grins, more devilishly than Jen was ready for, and she decides it’s late enough in the day she can start fucking drinking. 

_

Judy sips on a vodka soda as she watches Jen move to the music, pacing herself in an effort not to get so buzzed that she misses any cosmic opportunities. 

Jen’s right— she  _ does _ like to watch. Jen rolls her hips and closes her eyes in something that convincingly approximates ecstasy. Judy taps her foot to the beat and contemplates what else could elicit such a response from Jen; whether she lets herself go as much when she’s not so fully in control of her body’s movements.

The song ends, and a flushed Jen returns to the bar.

(Judy can smell the exertion on Jen’s skin. It makes her unspeakably wet.)

“You’re looking good out there, Harding.” 

Judy’s voice is raspy enough to give up the game, but it’s loud in here, and Jen doesn’t visibly react. 

“You think? I don’t know, it’s kind of slim pickings. I danced with that guy in the blue shirt,” she points to a generic finance-type who’s rocking khakis and penny loafers,”but I don’t know if I should go for it.” 

The glare from a roving stagelight backlights Jen, making her appear even more heavenly than usual, and Judy accepts the sign from above. Fortune favors the bold, and all. 

“Well, I think he’d jump on the opportunity if presented, but, you know, I could probably make you come twice in the time it takes him to get it up. Something to consider.” 

Judy shrugs, forcedly nonchalant, and takes an exaggerated sip from her tiny straw. 

Jen does a double take, her idle bopping to the music suddenly still. 

“Just like that? ‘Hey Jen, can I get you a glass of water, or maybe go down on you?’” 

“Is that what you like?” 

“Jesus, Jude! I don’t- you’re not seriously jealous of that asshole out there, are you?” 

“I’m not jealous,” Judy scoffs (she most definitely is), ”I’m just making a counter-offer. Not to toot my own horn, but I’m a really fucking good lay.” 

“I’ll bet,” Jen mutters, under her breath, eyes cloudy and unfocussed, and Judy has never more believed in the adage “no risk, no reward.” 

“What happens in Palm Springs stays in Palm Springs,” she whispers in Jen’s ear, noting the hairs at the nape of her neck instantly standing to attention. “I’m going back to the room. Feel free to join.” 

Her legs shake as she walks away, and she hopes to god Jen doesn’t notice. 

_

Jen has to take a moment to gather herself, to stop the room spinning. 

She’s not drunk (tipsy at best, that’s what an overly high tolerance and watered down cocktails will do), but her body feels as flushed as it does when she’s had an entire bottle of red by herself. 

Maybe Judy is right, and they can just get this  _ thing _ out of their systems. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it? To stop wondering,  _ all the time,  _ about what it would be like. 

( _ Knowing _ might be worse, though. Jen may never get anything done again.) 

She scans the room and finishes her drink. From a distance, she sees the pallor of sadness over the dance floor that she’d somehow missed in the middle of it. 

Sometimes, you’ve got to run after joy. 

Jen knocks on the door lightly to indicate her arrival before unlocking it. 

Judy’s lounging on the bed in her favorite robe, bare legs crossed at the ankle, the picture of relaxation. She smiles, more than a little self-satisfied.

“You gave up on the balding frat boy?”

“You’re hotter, and you know it,” Jen rolls her eyes. 

“Oh, you think I’m hot?”

Judy props herself up on her elbows, and Jen is fucking  _ done _ with practicing using her words.

She grabs her by the shoulders, kisses her before she can second guess herself and chicken out. 

It takes a moment for her brain to catch up to her body, to realize that oh, _ fuck _ , this is  _ Judy’s _ mouth against hers,  _ Judy’s _ tongue teasing her own. 

It’s been almost 30 years since she’s kissed a woman, and doing it with a fully formed frontal cortex is just… transcendent. She’s never been a big fan of kissing; Ted’s stubble always left her face raw, and at a certain point, kissing him had become perfunctory. But kissing Judy is… well, if she didn’t want to see her naked so fucking badly she’d gladly just makeout all night. 

Judy moans happily against her mouth, clearly thrilled at this development, and Jen can’t remember the last time that  _ happiness _ was at the forefront of a sexual encounter.

“Better than I could have ever imagined,” Judy sighs dreamily when they part, before flipping their positions so that Jen’s sitting on the edge of the bed and Judy’s straddling her, hands on her belt buckle. 

“Oh, you’ve given this a lot of thought?” 

(It’s hard to form words, when Judy’s teeth are tugging at her earlobes, but Jen’s pretty proud of her efforts.) 

“I think you know good and well that I have, Jen. I think about you a  _ lot _ .” 

“What do you think about?” 

(Her belt is off now, and Judy is working her way through the buttons of Jen’s shirt, dragging her blunt fingernails across her stomach. Jen can already tell she’s going to come embarrassingly quickly, but that’s feminism, or something.) 

Judy hums happily, temporarily distracted by the revealed skin, before answering. 

“God, what haven’t I thought about? What you’d feel like, whether you’d let me be a little rough with you, how many fingers you’d want, how loud you are when you come…” 

She reads it off like a grocery list, and Jen shivers as she shrugs her shirt off her shoulders. 

“But I think you should tell me more about what you’re thinking, Jen. What do _ you  _ want?” 

Judy leans back on her heels, her robe falling open, Jen seeing just enough to know there’s nothing underneath. 

_ Oh, hell. _

“I want-” she pauses, weighing how to express what feels like an overwhelming enormity of desire at the moment.

“Use your words, Jen, like we practiced,” Judy teases, and Jen should be annoyed, or insulted, even, but she’s just unbearably turned-on. 

“I want to see you.” 

Judy complies, tossing her robe aside, and  _ holy shit _ , Jen doesn’t even know where to focus her eyes. 

(Judy is still, um, _ lush _ , and  _ surprise _ ! Jen doesn’t mind that  _ at all _ . It’s possible a couple “fucks” fall off her lips against her will.) 

Judy raises an eyebrow, awaiting further instruction. 

“I want you to finish what you started.” 

Judy laughs and resumes her earlier position, unbuttoning Jen’s jeans and sliding them down her legs (which only tremble a little bit), until she’s only wearing her underwear. 

“You are  _ so _ beautiful,” Judy whispers, reverent, and Jen lets herself believe it, if only for the moment. 

She gently nudges Jen’s shoulders back against the bed, resumes her exploration of Jen’s skin, moving down her neck to her shoulders. 

She kisses along her bicep, sucking a little on on the inside of her elbow. Jen doesn’t even notice the existence of her arms most of the time, but Judy _ clearly  _ has, and oh, joy, apparently having a mouth on the insides of her wrists makes Jen’s stomach do somersaults.

Judy drags her teeth along the fleshy part of Jen’s palm, sucks her thumb into her mouth, and Jen can’t help but moan at the feeling. 

“Why does that feel so  _ good _ ?”

“Because I mean it,” Judy shrugs, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

Judy’s hands and mouth explore every inch of Jen’s revealed skin without pushing for more, peppering kisses on her hip bone and licks along her ribcage that make her hips buck and her breath ragged. If her  _ mouth _ is this warm and wet and wonderful, well… it certainly makes Jen wonder.

“Didn’t think you’d be such a fucking tease,” Jen huffs, more annoyed at herself than Judy at this point. 

“Hmmmm, if you want more, I think you should ask for it.” 

Judy rests her hand at the juncture of Jen’s waistband and her hips, a threat and a promise. 

“Gosh, Jude, I would really like you to fuck me.” 

“Can I make you say please, or is that pushing it?”

Jen narrows her eyes, and remembers that she gave as good as she got in their earlier messages. 

“Judy, put your beautiful, strong fingers in my hot, throbbing pussy,  _ please _ .” 

(And yeah, it’s heavy on the camp, but judging by Judy’s reaction it fucking _ works. _ ) 

Judy pounces, covering Jen’s body with her own and slipping her hand into Jen’s underwear to confirm the veracity of her description. 

“Holy shit, Jen, you’re so fucking wet,” Judy whines, dragging her fingers against Jen, circling her clit before slowly pushing inside her.

“It’s all for you,” Jen whispers, rocking forward to take Judy deeper. 

“Can I take these off?” Judy gestures to her underwear. 

Jen nods, kicking them off herself.

Judy lets her natural gift for conversation take over after that, talking Jen through it as she fucks her ( _ god _ , she’s good at fucking her. It’s revelatory).

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good squeezing around my fingers. Are you gonna soak my hand, baby? You gonna ruin this bed so we have to sleep in the other one?” 

(If Judy keeps crooking her fingers against Jen’s g-spot like that she just might, but you know, it’s a rhetorical question.) 

Jen reaches her hands up to grab Judy’s hips, to add some friction to the slip and slide of Judy grinding against her thigh as her hand works (and that just makes Jen wetter, honestly, she had no idea that sex with Judy would be so fucking _ messy _ ), but Judy grabs her by the wrist and pins her hand above her head.

“So help me, Jen, if you make me come before you, I’ll never forgive you.” 

And well, she really _ does _ want to make Judy happy, so she relents. 

Judy releases her grip, before moving that hand down to tease Jen’s clit as she continues to pump inside her.

“Tell me how you like it, baby. How do you touch yourself?” 

Jen laughs. 

“I’m never this fucking turned on when I’m by myself, I’m not sure that would be helpful.” 

Judy drags her thumb against her, slowly, smiling in a way that borders on cruel. 

“Jen, you’re fucking  _ throbbing _ .” 

At this point, all she can manage is a strangled “Hnnnnngggggg,” but Judy rightfully interprets that as “harder, faster, I’m so fucking close, dear god.” 

Jen has never considered herself especially demonstrative in bed, but she moans a little louder when Judy grinds harder against her, spreads her legs a little wider when Judy looks down. 

“As much as I love fucking you, Jen, I would really,  _ really _ love to see you come. Do you think you can do that for me, baby?”

Jen closes her eyes, concentrates on the building pressure in the pit of her stomach, the overwhelming sensation of Judy’s hands, the  _ sound _ of her wetness against Jen’s thigh. 

It’s like free-falling on a rollercoaster, thrilling and terrifying in equal measure, euphoria verging on pain. 

Judy slows her hands when she senses Jen’s orgasm, coaxes her through the aftershocks, before pulling her fingers out. 

(Honest to god, Jen fucking  _ whimpers _ .)

Judy licks her fingers clean (she fucking  _ would _ ) before crawling up the bed to spoon Jen. 

“I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: No. Notes.” 

Jen laughs, exhausted but keenly aware of Judy’s slight jumpiness. 

“Do I get to get _ you _ off, now?”

“I mean, if you want, or you know, you can just reciprocate next time…”

“Oh, _ next time _ ? I thought what happened in Palm Springs stayed in Palm Springs?”

“Oh, no, I mean, totally, if that’s what you want-” 

Jen stops her spiraling with a sloppy kiss. 

“Judy, I think I passed out there, that’s how hard I came. I’d be a fuckin’ idiot to make this a one-time thing. But I would still really like to fuck you, right now.” 

“Well in that case, “ Judy shrugs, the feigned nonchalance in clear contrast to her mussed hair and blown-out pupils. 

Jen rolls on top of her, suddenly aware of just how  _ small _ Judy is.

Judy guides her hand down, for once opting for “Show, don’t tell.” 

“I’m really close already,” Judy explains, when Jen hisses at the feeling of her against her fingers. The feeling is what she would  _ want _ molten lava to feel like- hot and welcoming, only dangerous enough to make her lips loose and her mind foggy. 

“Why are you so close, Jude?” Jen teases, following the gentle circles Judy’s guiding. 

“Watching you, Jen,  _ Jesus _ . You’re the hottest person I’ve ever seen.” 

“Tell that to Michelle.” 

(She adds the slightest bit of roughness to her movements.) 

“She wasn’t  _ you _ , Jen, you know that,” Judy husks, before closing her eyes and giving into the feeling. 

Her hand eventually lets go of Jen’s wrist to grip in the sheets, and Jen picks up the pace of her fingers, fast and relentless. 

“God, Jude, you’re so good for me, aren’t you? Thank you for waiting for me, baby.”

Judy’s back arches off the bed. For all her paintings, she’s the fucking art. 

Jen knows what Judy needs, instinctively, knows that if she says it this becomes too real to write off as tipsy adventure. She opens her mouth anyway. 

“Fuck, Jude, I love you.” 

Judy comes with a cry, gasping and moaning as she continues to grind against Jen’s now-still hand. 

Jen kisses her forehead, moves away the bangs that have plastered to her skin with her sweat.

Judy smiles, already drowsy. 

“Alright, Jude?” 

“Hmmm, yeah. No words left. Brain broke. Go team.”

Jen laughs into Judy’s neck, kisses the salty skin there. 

Judy shivers as the A/C kicks back up, and Jen pulls the comforter over them, until they’re wrapped in a blanket cocoon. 

“Love you, Jude,” Jen murmurs, but Judy wasn’t kidding about sex putting her to sleep —she’s out like a light, breathing deeply and steadily.

Jen basks in the quiet of the night, deciding that even after the haze has cleared, she doesn’t mind the feel of Judy’s clammy skin against hers, the way the room smells unmistakeably of sex. 

Judy’s foot stretches out under the sheets, toes gripping Jen’s calf like it’s a lifeline. 

She slips off her bra and moves closer, embracing the feeling of skin on skin. 

In her head, an old refrain from irregular visits to church serves as a lullaby. 

“ _ Ask and it shall be given unto you, seek and ye shall find…” _

Maybe sometimes, it  _ can  _ be that easy. 

_ Halle-fucking-lujah. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, dead grandma, for repurposing that absolute bop of a hymn in this way <3

**Author's Note:**

> (don't worry, they'll actually fuck in pt 2, ya filthy bastards)


End file.
